Concerning A Murder
by FinniganToldMeTo
Summary: New Summary: When a figment of your imagination gets out of hand, how can you fight it? How can you fight yourself, when there are more than one enemy?
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:**

**Based on the movie version. Mort Rainey has been driven from town by the frightened citizens. He is forced to drive hours to do his weekly shopping. He is forced to live alone in the cottage, away from the world. Mort realizes all too quickly just what he's done. He stops eating the corn out of disgust. He begins to lock himself in his bathroom daily, terrified of what he might do if allowed back into the world. Then, one day, a weary traveller, Alexander Wright, finds his way to the cottage, seeking refuge, a place to hide for awhile. **

**Several good flashback moments. It's all psychological and stuff like that.**

**Oh… and go see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory if you've yet to see it…**

"**I'm sorry. I was having a flashback."**

"**Do these happen often?"  
"Increasingly… today."**

**I don't own Morton Rainey, or anything else that fits in with this story, except Alex. I own him, and his demented past. That's one thing I own… wee.**

**Concerning a Murder**

**Chapter One: Confusion and seclusion**

In a cottage in the woods, far from civilized life, Morton Rainey sat quietly in front of his laptop, typing away at some story, headphones on his head and the tune drifting melodically through his mind as the words flowed to the screen. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he typed the last few words and hit the save button. This story was finished.

"Well, looks like another story finished. And this one ended perfectly." He smiled broadly as he stared at the screen a bit more. A small gurgle came to his ears as he pulled the headphones off and he looked down at his stomach.

"All right. I get it. I'll eat something." He stood and walked downstairs to the kitchen, pulling out a plate and getting an ear of corn from the steaming pot. He buttered the corn and salted it, lifting it gently to his lips to take a bite. He stopped the corn inches from his face.

"_I'm sure that in time, every bit of her will be gone, and her death will be a mystery, even to me."_

Blinking rapidly, Mort pushed the sentence from his mind. It was an old story, one he'd finished a long time ago. He didn't know why that last sentence kept cropping up in his mind whenever he ate. Pulling his jacket off and sitting in front of the fire while he ate, Mort sighed and began to think about the past few days.

"I don't get it… Why is it they're all flowing so well. It's like these stories are just pouring out of me now. I wish Amy was here to see this. She'd be pretty proud." Mort stopped and stared at the fire. "I wonder where she is, she and Teddy. It's been forever since I've heard from either of them…"

Leaning back, Mort set his plate down and closed his eyes.

_A scream erupted from Amy. The shovel fell, hitting Ted over and over again. Mort turned and looked to Amy. He saw the fear in her eyes and grinned._

" '_I know I can do it,' Todd Downey said, helping himself to another ear of corn from the steamin' bowl. I'm sure that in time, her death will be a mystery, even to me.' "_

_Mort swung the shovel and dug in. Dirt came up and fell back into a hole. He planted the rows of corn over the bodies, smiling all the while._

_The room was silent as he then began to clean, refinishing all the wood and getting rid of every trace of John Shooter. He sat down on the couch and drank deeply from the Jack Daniel's at his side. Then, he threw out the bottle, done with the stuff forever._

Mort's eyes shot open. He blinked several times and stared at the fire. "What the hell was that?" His mind was coming back into foggy focus and he could almost register that the phone was ringing. After five rings, Mort finally heard it and leapt from the couch, running to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" Mort's voice remained calm and awake, even while his mind still rushed to understand the dream.

"Mr. Rainey? It's Sheriff Newsome. I was calling to let you know that you actually need to take my advice. Stay out of town. People are complaining and several people have left Tashmore Lakes out of fear of their own lives."

"Oh, Sheriff. Oh, yeah, yeah. I'll definitely stop going into town. I forgot that you'd said that. I'm sorry. I don't mean to worry anyone." Mort smiled as he moved to hang up the phone. A thought crossed his mind then, and he put the phone back to his ear. "Hey, Newsome?"

"Yes, Mr. Rainey?" The voice on the other end was nervous, frightened.

"I've got a small question. A slight favor. I need a little help out here. I'm movin' things around, fixing a hole in the roof, stuff like that. Do you know of any good service I could call? I can't do it all on my own."

"There's a place in New London. Johnson and Brooks. They're a pretty good little company. Don't have the phone number on me, but you can find it in the phone book. They helped me when that storm broke my roof in last month, remember?"

Mort nodded deftly. "Yeah, I remember something about it. Thanks a lot Dave."

"Sure… Mr. Rainey… Sure thing." The phone line went dead and Mort sat a few minutes with the phone against his ear.

Sighing heavily for about the tenth time that day, Mort finally set the phone on its cradle. He slid down against the wall and stared at the far wall, thinking quickly and furiously. He didn't remember too much of the dream he'd just had anymore. All he remembered was the line from his book and the shovel.

Standing swiftly, Mort ran out to the tool shed and rummaged through everything. He pulled out the shovel that he'd seen in the dream.

_The shovel made a sickening crack-thump each time it plunged into Ted's face. Mort paid little attention to the screaming Amy and his busted lip. He turned and smiled at Amy._

Mort threw the shovel down as the memory faded once again to the back of his mind. "What's going on with me? That never happened… Did it?"

Mort rushed back into the house and went to the kitchen, grabbing another ear of corn.

"…_her death will be a mystery, even to me."_

"Even to me?" Mort's eyes widened and he set the corn down once more. "Her death? Amy's death? No… No they're just living somewhere else now. They left town is all. They're both still alive."

Mort pulled himself step by step to his bedroom. He threw himself down on the bed and forced himself to sleep, believing rest was all he needed.

"_It's mine… Wasn't ever anybody else's."_

"_Mort. What's wrong?"_

"_You got you a wrong number Missus. Ain't no Mort here. Mort's dead. He did a whole lot of squirmin' around, but in the end, he couldn't lie to himself anymore. Let alone to me. Now I never put a hand on him Missus, I swear. He took the coward's way out."_

"_Why are you talking this way?"_

"_Just the way I talk."_

"_You're scaring me."_

"_It don't matter. You won't be scared for long."_

Mort woke, sweat pouring down his face and chest. He gasped loudly, trying, with much difficulty, to catch his breath. He looked desperately around the room, hoping for an answer to it all. He was greeted with darkness and the sound of his own gasping breaths.

"What is wrong with me?" Mort pressed his hands over his eyes. "Why am I remembering doing this stuff? Did I actually do it?"

Mort closed his eyes and leaned back on the bed. "I did… I remember it. I did that. I killed Amy. She didn't move. I murdered her. I slaughtered Ted right before her face, then I did her in. I buried them in that garden… I buried them where the corn is now. I-" Mort's eyes widened and he let out a disgusted grunt. "I'm never eating corn again!"

Mort stood and ran down the stairs, picking up a flashlight as he ran out the door. He ran all the way to the tool shed and grabbed the shovel. Then, panting for air, but determined, he rushed to where the corn grew. He began to mutilate the stalks of corn, one by one, until all that was left was a mass of dead corn and weeds. He threw the shovel to the ground and ran to the house again. He didn't stop until he got all the way to the upstairs bathroom. Stopping in front of the mirror, Mort glared across at his reflection.

"What have I been doing with my life? What's wrong with you Mort? You killed them… and soon, they'll find the bodies. They'll have the evidence, and you'll go to jail. What the hell is wrong with you Mort!"

He stepped away from the mirror and slumped to the floor, whimpering slightly at the night. "What is wrong with me?" His eyes slid closed as his body relaxed against the bathroom wall. Silence fell once more on the cottage and Mort fell asleep, tossing and turning on the bathroom floor in fits of fear.

**TBC**

**First Chapter… It's a quick start story, but I don't intend it to be all too long… That's why.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Two: Visitors and Crusaders**

Mort Rainey woke up at the sound of pounding on the door. He looked around, orienting himself. He was in the bathroom, lying on the floor, just as he'd been for the past three nights. It seemed to be the only place he could sleep anymore. Even his faithful couch was turning on him.

Mort stood and wandered downstairs, massaging his neck and stretching his aching muscles. He passed the living room mirror and let out a small laugh at the sight of himself. He'd apparently left his personal appearance up to fate for the past three days. His hair was pulling the old trick of lying every which way against his head. His glasses were askew. He was once again wearing the tattered bathrobe that had once belonged to his wife.

At the thought of his wife, Mort cringed and put his hands to his head.

"Honestly? I did it, right?" Three days of seclusion can make it quite difficult for anyone to see the truth, but Mort seemed to be having more trouble than most. It was as if he believed and remembered killing them, but he couldn't convince himself of it. "Damn…" The pounding at the door continued and Mort grabbed at his hair, turning to the door. "I'M COMING!" He straightened his hair the best he could and answered the door.

Before him, on the doorstep, stood a nineteen year old boy dressed in an all black, tattered outfit, a crimson overcoat ending about midway down the boy's calf. The boy stared at Mort with a weary, almost dead look in his stone-gray eyes. Blood dripped from a cut above his right eye and he held his left arm gingerly, as if it would fall off if he let go. His dirty blonde hair fell about his face in complete disarray. He looked like something out of London in the late 1800s.

"I'm sorry… to bother you, sir," The boy spoke with a slight English accent and a voice that had probably once spoken of nobility. "I was hoping to take refuge here for awhile. I need a place to stay… away from the world."

Mort stared blankly at the boy and opened his mouth to speak. "I… may have a place for you. I haven't been using the bedroom lately, actually. You can stay there."

"Thanks," The boy muttered. At a gesture from Mort, he entered the house and took a very careful seat on a lone chair near the fire. He was shaking violently, cold, hurt, and he seemed to have more than one thing on his mind.

Mort stared at the boy for a moment, then slowly closed the front door. "Do you need any help with those?" He pointed to the cut above the boy's eye. "I've got a first-aid kit."

The boy stared up at him and blinked rapidly, unsure of what to say. He sighed wearily and leaned his head on his right hand, staring back at the dying fire.

_I don't remember lighting a fire last night… Mort stared blankly at the fire, trying desperately to remember that one moment. No memory came._

"Thank you. I think I could use some help. I didn't think it was all that bad, when I got the wounds, but it is." Mort was startled out of his reminiscing by the boy's voice.

"Sure thing. I'll be right back." Mort turned and rushed up the stairs to the upstairs bathroom, where he kept the first aid kit.

_What the hell is with this kid? There's this air about him… Did I make a mistake letting him come in here?_

Picking up the first aid kit and searching through it for his needed supplies, Mort finally found some bandages, hydrogen-peroxide (AN: The magical disinfectant that hurts more than the cuts…), and some Neosporin. He ran back down the stairs and grabbed a clean washcloth from the kitchen.

"Here we go." Mort wet the cloth and went back to where he'd left the boy. He was no longer sitting in the chair. The boy was pacing the floor in the living room, muttering to himself and clutching his bad arm.

"Um… I got the kit." Mort caught the boy's attention and stepped to him, reaching out and touching the washcloth gently to the cut above the boy's eye. After cleaning that, he motioned to the arm. The boy stared at him for a second, wondering what he was supposed to do.

Then, as if a light had been turned on somewhere, it clicked. The boy pulled his long sleeve up as far as it would go. It wasn't enough, so he gave in and pulled the shirt off all the way. His overcoat and shirt fell to the floor with a small thud and the boy crossed his arms uncertainly over his chest.

Mort couldn't help but giggle a bit. "Oh, don't worry. I like girls. I have absolutely no intention of molesting you." He poured some peroxide onto the washcloth and dabbed at the bloody gash on the boy's upper arm. After the blood was cleaned away, Mort could finally see that the gash was about six inches long and could very well have cut all the way to the bone. He finished cleaning the cut and put some Neosporin on and around the wound, hoping that it wasn't as deep a cut as he believed. In which case, the boy should have rushed to a hospital and Mort might be making things worse. He wrapped some gauze around the boy's arm and stepped back.

"There, I've finished. It's okay now…"

The boy looked up at him with a small smile. "Thank you, Mister…"

"Rainey. Morton Rainey. Call me Mort. And you are?"

"Alexander Wright. Just call me Alex, please."

"Can do, Alex. Now, are you tired? I just have to change the sheets on the bed. Shouldn't take more than three minutes."

Alex nodded wearily. "I am a bit tired… Thank you."

"Right. Come on." Mort led Alex up the stairs to the bedroom. He pulled the sheets off and replaced them with cleaner ones, making the bed semi-neatly. He then pulled down the top sheet and blanket to allow Alex to lie down.

"There you are. I'll be sleeping on my oh-so-faithful couch, so I won't even need to bother you except to grab my night-clothes. If you need anything, like an extra outfit, or food, or whatever, just tell me. See you in the morning."

Mort smiled and left the room, walking down to the couch. After stoking the dying fire a minute, he laid down and fell into a fitful sleep. So much for his oh-so-faithful-couch.

**TBC**

**Well, That's that. They've met. The entire chapter was just them meeting and dealing with Alex's wounds. There'll be some time where it seems like they're just a couple of guys in a dormitory, then they'll learn about each other's morbid pasts and frightening inner characters. Should be fun. You bring the chips and I'll bring the dip.**

**I want to thank Dawnie-7 for being my only reviewer as of yet. But I'm not discouraged, I'm sure the rest of you will come around when you realize how wonderful I am at typing these condemning stories… ahem Anyhow, thanks again Dawnie, hope you enjoy this one.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Three: Breakfast and Laughter**

The morning came quickly and Mort woke to the sun shining on his face. He sat up slowly, picking up his watch from the table in his old style. He looked around him a moment and began to clear his mind.

"Okay… Let a strange kid into the house. Bandaged some wounds. Slept on couch coz kid's on the bed." Mort closed his eyes and let out a breath of air. A sound near the back of the couch startled him suddenly.

"Sorry," came a weak, and slightly embarrassed voice. "I just woke up. I'm really hungry, but I didn't want to wake you. Good thing you woke up when you did. I almost thought of raiding your fridge… then you'd have nothing in the house."

Mort turned to see Alex standing behind the couch, chuckling lightly. Alex smiled and motioned to the kitchen.

"I hate to try and seem rude… But I'm pretty hungry."

Mort's eyes widened and he stood up. "Oh… oh yeah… Food." He wandered to the kitchen unsteadily. "I forgot that there's someone else here. Like I said last night, if you're hungry, just say so. In fact, you can raid the fridge. Just, if we run out of something, tell me. Coz that means you and I gotta take a little trip into New London."

"Why so far?"

Mort turned and stared at the boy. "What?"

"I asked… why so far? There's a town real near here. Why can't we shop there?"

"Reasons." Mort turned and began pulling things out of the fridge for an eggs and bacon breakfast, even though his watch had said that it was one thirty in the afternoon. He began to cook almost instantly, pushing the corn off the counter in disgust. He picked up the large pot and left the room. Alex followed, an inquisitive look on his face.

Mort stepped outside, to the garbage bin where he'd found Chico attached and dumped the pot without even looking where it hit. He rushed back inside, leaving the corn and the pot lying on the ground.

"How do you like your eggs, Alex?" Mort asked the question without even checking to see if the boy was back in the house. As it was, Alex remained outside, staring down at the corn and pot. "Alex?"

Alex came back around the corner and into the house, staring now at Mort. "Over-easy, please…" His eyes swept over the house for the first time and he sat comfortably down at the dining table. "Do you want me to set the table?"

Mort turned, slight shock on his face. "Well… if you want, sure. Two places, plates, silverware and cups… Umm, the silverware's in this drawer next to me and the plates and cups are in that cupboard over the sink."

Alex nodded and set straight away to setting the table. Within a half hour, the boys were seated at the table, sharing a quiet meal of eggs, bacon, and Mort's own French Toast.

"So, you live here alone?" Alex took another questioning glance around the room.

Mort lifted his eyes level with Alex's. "Yeah. My wife left me a long time ago… Then, she died. So, I've lived here alone since she and I split up."

"Oh, that's got to be a sad story to remember. I'm sorry about that." Alex put his face directly over his dish.

"No, it's okay." Mort chuckled lightly. "Its fine. You're curious, I'll tell you almost anything. Later…" Mort stood and set his plate in the sink to soak. "I've got to get working on the new story. Editor will have a fit if it's not in soon."

Alex turned and watched Mort go up the stairs. "You write?"

"Yeah," Mort called down from his alcove. "I've been writing for awhile. My profession, you know."

Alex nodded and placed his plate with Mort's in the sink. "What are you working on now?"

"A murder mystery. Just some weird little thing about a guy getting accused of killing his own father and then accused of trying to kill someone else. The whole thing's pretty twisted."

Alex stopped halfway up the stairs, staring straight up to where, he thought, Mort sat.

_He doesn't know, Alex. You're getting worked up. It's a simple coincidence. Don't take it to heart._

Alex finished the climb and stood near Mort, reading over his shoulder. "Looks good so far," he said after reading for a moment.

"Well, I'm working on it." Mort turned in his chair and smiled at Alex. "Still a work in progress of course." He looked back at his computer and chuckled. "Oh, I've got to make sure to ask you not to touch the computer. Of all the things in this house, that's the one thing I can't stand other people to touch. Almost killed my wife one time she did…" He chuckled a moment more, then fell silent, an eerie grin on his face that faded quickly to a hurt look. "Anyway…" His voice caught in his throat. "I was… umm, just finishing a few paragraphs here… Then, I was gonna go out, for a walk. If you want to join me, you may, or you may stay here and make yourself comfortable."

"I'll stay, thanks." Alex smiled back at Mort, and turned to go downstairs. He sat warily on the couch, looking about the room. His eyes fell on the fire a minute, then moved on. He discovered the fire-poker nearby, then the weights in the corner. His eyes finally came to rest on a very tarnished bit of the far wall. All he could see were the remains of letters. He squinted a bit and stared, trying to read what might have been there.

_Shoo… Shoot… Shooter? Shooter? What's that mean? What's he written that for? He did say I could ask him about anything and he'd most likely explain._

"Hey, Mort?" Alex hollered up to the alcove. "I changed my mind. I think I will join you on this walk after all…"

**TBC**

**A streak of morbid curiosity of course. What Alex gets from this question, this totally innocent question that he will ask on the walk… that's another story altogether…**

**Read, review… and so on and so forth. Check out my other fics. I will hopefully have a new chapter up for Visions of Friendship very soon, but everything's gonna be weird awhile. School's back in session. Ick.**

**Final word: "Everything in this room is eatable. In fact, I'm eatable. But that, my dear children, is called cannibalism which is in fact frowned upon in most societies." Had to, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory ruled.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Four: The Moon and the Lake**

Mort shut the door behind the two of them, smiling all the while at the afternoon sun. He turned and put a hand on Alex's shoulder.

"What made you change your mind, kid?"

Alex shrugged and let out a sigh. "I wanted to ask you a couple questions…"

"Questions? Those are always fun." Mort let out a chuckle and picked up his walking stick from its normal spot next to the door. "Ask away. I'll answer nearly all of your questions."

Alex gulped quietly and watched Mort as he led the way down the steps and along a path leading toward the lake. He followed slowly, thinking about how he'd word his questions without making himself seem too concerned with other people's lives, as well as trying to keep Mort from asking him questions about himself.

"Okay, my first question… Why do you live in a cabin in the woods all alone?"

Mort turned and looked sideways at his companion, reaching out a hand and draping his arm lightly over the boy's shoulders. "Just stop. Stand here and take a look out into the wonder that is this lake."

They were, in fact, right in front of the lake at that moment, staring over it at the setting sun. The sky was tinged with about seven different shades of pink, with the sun hanging about halfway below the sky. The lake shimmered with a golden-pink reflection of the sun and sky. It really was the most beautiful thing Alex had ever seen.

"This…" Mort closed his eyes with a slight sigh. "This is why I live out here. Away from the hustle and bustle of the world. I live here because I am an artist of sorts, and this is the perfect landscape for an artist. I may not work with an easel and paints, but it doesn't matter. An artist is anyone who expresses their feelings through the means of art, and literature… is an art."

Mort let Alex go then and continued to walk, silently following the edge of the lake until it slipped away into the woods. He stopped here, on the edge of the forest, staring at Alex with a questioning glint in his eyes.

In fact, Alex had not left his spot. He hadn't expected such a passion from a hermit like this man. He'd expected him to say something simple, like he didn't like people or he didn't want to get bombarded by fans all the time. This man had said nothing of the sort. He'd said that it was for the art. And that look in his eyes when he'd said it. He meant it.

"Next question?" Alex looked up to see Mort staring at him.

"What?" Alex muttered, in slight confusion.

"I asked about your next question…" Mort chuckled and tilted his head to the side, watching Alex as he caught up.

"Okay. Next question." Alex racked his brain, thinking about what he'd say next. "How about… What was your wife like?"

Mort turned away, beginning to walk away from Alex. A lingering silence fell between the two and Alex began to wonder if he'd offended the author. They passed several wide clearings in perfect silence. About four clearings into the woods, Mort stopped and sat down on a stump, turning to face Alex. Squinting in the growing darkness.

"I forgot a flashlight," Mort sighed as he realized the importance of what he was saying. "When we decided to walk… What time was it?"

"About three in the afternoon." Alex sat on a stump across the clearing from Mort, looking about in a state of growing nervousness.

Mort nodded and laughed a bit. "Three was when we decided… Then, I got a phone call. That was a long bit of time. I don't think we got out of the house until about… five. Maybe five-thirty."

Indeed it was about five-thirty when the two had left, Mort having been stopped by a mysterious phone call from his latest editor. The conversation had lasted a good hour and a half as Mort had stumbled about the house searching for the information the editor had needed. Then, the two had sat in silence in the living room for a while before Alex had looked up and asked if they still would walk. Mort had nodded and responded with a yes, they were.

Alex sighed. "It's too dark already."

"I know," Mort's voice sounded strained from across the clearing. Alex couldn't see the other anymore. The moon, full tonight, was hidden behind dark storm clouds. "I'm a little worried about that."

Another short silence filled the space between the two.

"My wife…" Mort's voice sounded quiet, calm, sad. "Her name was Amy. I loved her so much. She was everything to me. She made me laugh when she was around. She made me cry when she was gone. We were perfect for each other… So I thought. I guess the life of an author isn't always perfect. She left me for another man. She said that I was… never there anymore. That I was lost in the stories I wrote. She wanted a man that was there. So she went to Ted.

"We were going through some rough times. Amy and Ted kept trying to get me to sign the divorce papers and I was trying to get the rest of my stuff out of the house we shared. The house got burnt down. Ted and I had a few violent arguments. Then, Amy died. I-I-I don't know how. She was dead. One-one day… she was just dead. Ted moved away and I haven't heard from him for several years."

The silence fell again, heavier this time than any other that night. The clouds above them began to shift away from the moon. Alex could see once again, and when he looked up toward Mort, he wasn't there.

Alex stood, shaking, looking around for Mort.

"Hey! Mort!" He turned around quickly, searching franticly. The man had just been there. Where was he now? "Mort? MORT?"

"Alex? You okay?" Mort stood over Alex as the other lie on the couch. Alex opened his eyes and stared up at Mort.

"What the hell?" Alex sat up straight, falling back against the arm of the couch as the whole room swam before his eyes.

"Easy there, Tiger," Mort let out a small chuckle and placed a cold, wet cloth over Alex's eyes. "Leave that there for now. You tripped, Alex. Out in the woods last night. I'd gotten up, because my eyes had adjusted to the dark. I was about right next to you when you jumped up and hollered for me. Sorry I scared you like that. You turned sharp and tripped over a root. I tried to catch you, but my reflexes were too slow. You hit your head on the stump."

Alex nodded slowly, understanding. "Oh. Okay. That's okay."

"Yeah," Mort laughed again. "I think you'll be fine. Just a small scratch. Try not to move too quickly or anything. You could aggravate your condition."

Alex nodded slowly once more, pressing his hand to the cloth at his eyes, making little bursts of light go off behind his eyelids. "Can I sleep more?"

"You don't want to ask anymore questions?" Mort sat carefully on the chair near Alex's head.

"No," was Alex's only reply.

Mort nodded and watched Alex fall back against the couch. "Maybe later then?"

"Yeah, later."

**TBC**

**That is an interesting turn of events. I'll tell you something. Every chapter is as new to me as it is to you. I write it maybe a day before you see it. So, let me know how it's going. I'd love to know. Good and mean reviews welcome, though mean ones may make me cry… J/K. Hope you enjoyed.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Five: A Fight And A Legend**

Mort Rainey sat in his favorite chair, across the living room from the unconscious Alex. He had been there since the boy had fallen asleep eight hours before, and he continued to sit, watching, thinking. Mort had had a lot of time to think these days. This young man that he'd allowed into his home now asked him of his wife, why he lived alone, why he didn't go into town for his groceries. Soon the boy may even begin to piece things together.

Mort sighed and stood carefully, stretching his arms as high as they'd reach, popping his jaw as he brought his arms back down. He stared blankly at the boy for a few more minutes, then began to walk out of the room.

"How long?"

Mort turned and stared in the direction of Alex. The boy was now lying on the couch, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"How long… what?"

Alex didn't move, didn't blink, just stared at the ceiling. He remained inanimate for several moments before finally closing his eyes.

"How long was I asleep?"

Mort chuckled, letting out a relieved sigh. "About eight hours… A healthy nap. You feeling better, kid?"

"Yeah, I am. I don't think I have anymore questions for you though… Not today."

Mort nodded. "Well, it's only fair that I get to ask some questions then."

Alex sat up and turned to watch Mort's actions.

"You ask me?"

Mort nodded as he stepped into the light of the fire, revealing a slightly mischievous grin upon his features. Alex cringed away from the older man, then fell to the couch, resting his hands across his chest.

"Alright, ask away."

Mort nodded and began to pace, keeping his right hand trained on his chin. "Here's one. What are you doing all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere, New England?"

Alex stretched, considering the right way to answer this first question. "I am… on the run, as it were. I ran away from home. My father had been killed back home. My mother, who was cheating on my father at the time, blamed me. The cops wanted me for murder of my own father. I didn't kill him, you understand… But they want me locked up."

Mort shook his head and stopped pacing. "I don't know how much of that is true, but I do not it's not the full truth. Do you not trust me, Alex? Is that why you're holding back?"

"You're holding back too, Rainey. There's things about you that I'm sure you're hiding…"

"Like what, pray tell?" Mort turned on his heels, glaring at the boy.

Alex shrunk back into the couch. "Next question?"

Mort sighed, straightened up and shook his head. "I'm sorry. Uncalled for. I should have been more caring and sympathetic. After all, everyone in this busy little town think I killed my wife and her beau. Alright, next question. What happened to you? The day I brought you in, the day you came to my door… You were covered in blood and cuts. What happened?"

Alex took a quick glance towards Mort, before spinning about, throwing his sock-covered feet over the back of the couch, letting his head dangle somewhere in the general vicinity of Mort's feet.

"I was attacked. There was a mob of people that wanted me dead. My dad, you see. He was a hero in our little town. We don't have any of this high tech stuff you have, like phones and junk. My town is pretty much Amish Country, to be blunt. They chased me out of town. Then, in the woods just outside your place, I met wolves. Big wolves, sharp and terrifying fangs, too. It wasn't pretty."

"I can agree with that," Mort muttered, the thought of the blood on the poor boy's arms and face coming back to his cloudy memory. "Okay, final question for tonight. What do you think of me?"

"Beg pardon?" Alex glanced up at Mort, the blood still rushing to his head.

"What do you think of me? What was your first impression?"

Alex sat up, straightened his shirt, and yawned. "When I first saw you, I was relieved, because I'd found someone that could help me heal my wounds. Then, I felt a bit frightened. You are all alone out here. And that whole corn bucket bit you pulled the first morning, I don't think I want to know what that was about."

"You don't. And you won't know anyway."

Alex nodded. "Yeah, figured."

Mort shrugged and pulled Alex to a standing position. "Let's get some dinner. I know a place in New London that's very good." He grabbed a coat by the door and threw it in Alex's direction. He then stepped out the door and proceeded to the car, not even looking to see if the boy had followed. And of course, Alex was stock-still in the middle of the living room. He stared after Mort with a slightly confused, mostly frightened look in his gray, usually emotionless eyes.

_Alright, Mister Rainey. All's well. The kid's gonna just think you're a normal guy. And you are, right?_

"Right…"

_There's nothing odd goin' on in that little brain of yours… Except me._

"And why did you come back?"

_This boy, Alex… He's goin' to get hisself in trouble Mister Rainey. One never knows what's gonna happen to that curious little critter, but… you remember Chico, right?_

"Leave the kid alone. He knows nothing. He's just as confused and frightened as I am. He's been through a lot, can tell in his eyes."

_You can hide pain like that though, can't you Mister Rainey? You're coverin' up your fear, your pain. You're happy that that little wench is dead, aren't you?_

"I loved Amy. You understand, goddamnit! I LOVED HER!"

_Easy now, Mister Rainey. Wouldn't want the legendary author to crack under pressure. Not in front of the little one. He's your respons'bility now, Mister Rainey. Nothin's gonna stop me from takin' his life if he figures out too much._

"Leave him out of this! He's innocent, just like she was!"

_Was she, Mister Rainey? Was she?_

"She…"

_Your little friend is comin' now. Easy does it Tiger. Don't want to scare the little boy all too fiercely now. Wouldn't be too good to have him runnin' off now, would it?_

"SHUT UP!"

Alex slipped into the passenger seat and stared over at Mort. The older man had screamed, right as he walked up. Now, Mort's face was buried in the steering wheel, hidden from Alex. He reached out a tentative hand and felt Mort's shivering shoulder.

"You… okay?"

Mort jumped at the sound of the boy's voice. He stared blankly in Alex's general direction for several moments, then turned and started the car. Silence filled the space between the two of them for a good half hour of their drive. Then, Mort spoke.

"I'm sorry. I just… Got to thinking about my wife. Miss her, you know?"

Alex nodded, clutching his arms to his chest. "Yeah, miss my dad, just the same. He was everything to me, you know? He taught me all the things I'd ever learned in life… And then, in a flash, he was gone, and everyone said it was my fault. I didn't get it. But that's how it happened."

"Harsh." Mort stole a glance at the boy. "So, pick up at the drive through better than sit-down restaurant style tonight?"

The boy gave a weak nod, and Mort turned into a Carl's Jr. parking lot.

**TBC**

**Hehe, you thought that Alex and Mort were gonna fight, but it was really Mort and… this voice in his head? Oh, come on, if you don't recognize him, reread the book or watch the movie again. It's all right there, black and white…**

**Read, review. All these wonderful things make me stronger as an artist, and I am an artist… in Mort's sense of the word.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Six: Night-time Jitters and Daytime Chills**

The night came to a close as Alex tromped his way up the stairs to the room that Mort now affectionately called "Alex's place." Mort always slept on the couch. Then, there were times when Alex could hear footsteps through the room that he slept in. The footsteps would wind their way slowly to the bathroom door. The door would open ever so slightly and Alex would catch a glimpse of Mort slipping into the bathroom.

Alex would wake up in the mornings after these nights, shaking with cold sweat, and turning to the bathroom in fear. There would never be anything in that room. Never.

Alex's common sense always got the better of him. Mort wasn't in there, because Mort never walked up the stairs. It was always a dream. Of course, then there were the other dreams. Alex hated those dreams even more.

_He was a child of 15. His mother and father were arguing. They wouldn't stop. His father slapped his mother across the face. Alexander had the slight impression that she deserved it. This was the fifth time that she had come home late, and Alexander knew why. She was out having an affair with another man._

_Alexander fell to his knees as his mother begged him to help her. Told him that they didn't understand. Alexander screamed._

"_You are out every night, having sex with another man! You come home, smelling like him, smelling like a cheap tramp! You don't love Dad anymore? Is that it?"…._

_Alexander stumbled down an endless hallway. There was a door to his right. He opened it. Inside was his mother with HIM. That bastard that ruined their family. Alexander threw a rock, wanting to hit the man… make him sorry…._

And then Alex would wake up, sweating and panting, staring straight at the door, hoping, begging, for his father or mother to come rushing in and comfort him, like the old days. That wasn't the case these days. Alex was alone, with Mort.

That morning, Alex trudged down the stairs, feeling more tired than he had when he'd gone to bed the night before. He sat heavily in a chair at the dining table. Mort looked over his newspaper at the boy, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

"Sleep well, Alex?"

The only response was a shaking of his head, then Alex reached across the table for the pitcher of milk, a bowl, and some Honey Nut Cheerios. He poured a bowl and began eating, without a word in the other man's direction.

"You have bad dreams again?"

A nod from Alex.

"What about?"

He shook his head.

"If you ever want to talk…"

Another nod.

Mort sighed and set the paper down, rustling through it for the funnies and pouring himself a bowl of Cheerio's as well. He sat back, staring at Alex a bit, watching the boy eat. He rustled the paper and set it aside, throwing all of his concentration into pouring a bowl of cereal.

_He's acting really weird lately… Is it just… a thing? Or is there something really wrong? He doesn't speak anymore. That's kind of creepy._

Mort sighed and shook his head. After all, he acted "creepy" sometimes too. There was that time yesterday that he'd stopped everything and had a full-on argument with John Shooter. That was weird and creepy.

Chuckling, Mort picked up a spoon and began eating.

"What's funny?" Alex looked up from his bowl and actually had a streak of curiosity in his features.

"What?" Mort chuckled again. "Just… thinking. You know, weird stuff has been happening. What with all this time we've been cooped up in the house since your fall in the woods."

"Still want to know why I passed out. You say I tripped. I don't remember tripping…"

"Oh, you tripped." Mort finished the sentence as if there were no arguing it.

_Right, Mister Rainey. He tripped… and I'm the Gov'nor of Miss'ssippi._

Mort shook his head and shoved a mouthful of Cheerios down his throat. He would have choked had he not remembered to chew the bite before swallowing.

Alex glanced up at his now room-mate. "Mort?"

"Hrmph?" Mort looked up, a mouthful of Cheerios practically spilling out between his lips. The younger did not laugh, as he usually did, when Mort looked ridiculous for the sake of the boy. He knew today that it was an act.

"I'm afraid… that I may have to be leaving soon. I can't stay here much longer. Those men that are searching for me are bound to find me."

Mort shook his head and choked down his food. "No. You're safe here. You don't have to leave."

"I do. I don't want them to come after you."

"They won't." Mort picked up his bowl and left the table, leaving the conversation where it lie. He dropped his spoon gently into the sink and dumped out the remains of his cereal down the disposal. A small scuffling noise behind him caused a shiver to run up his spine. Silence followed, and almost on instinct, Mort turned, trying to determine what made the noise.

Alex stood, a few feet from the author, his eyes brimming with tears and an unfocused look on his face. "I didn't kill them…"

Mort stopped, looking thoughtfully at the boy. He was about to speak up, reassure him, let him know that he had nothing to prove to him. Then, Alex's voice rang out once more.

"You're lying. You've never been here before. You just… show up. You think you know me, these things I do. You're wrong."

Mort turned, looking past his own shoulder. There, standing in the doorway leading out to the side yard, was John Shooter.

"Shooter?" Mort's voice cracked.

"About time you joined our conversations, Mister Rainey." Shooter stepped past Mort and put a hand on Alex's shoulder. Alex cringed, running toward Mort. He grabbed the older man fiercely, hiding behind him.

"Who is he?" Alex buried his face in Mort's shoulder. His muffled voice rose to Mort's ears. "Who is he and why is he following me?"

"He's…" Mort glared at Shooter a moment, thinking of the best way to describe him. "He's John Shooter… a fictional character. A figment of our imaginations. He doesn't exist and you don't need to fear him."

"Mister Rainey. Don't lie to your little friend, our little friend. He needs to know who I really am. I'm you, Mister Rainey."

Mort turned and grabbed Alex's arm, pulling him along out of the house, toward the car. He pushed Alex roughly into the passenger's seat.

"Where are we going? Who was that? Why can I see him too if he's not real? What did he mean, he's you? Where the Hell are we going?" Alex stared up at Mort out of the passenger window. Mort stared down at him a moment, then ran to the driver's door. Slipping into the seat and shoving the keys into the ignition, he turned and smiled at Alex. The car revved and roared, backing onto the road and speeding furiously away from the house.

"We're going on a joy ride."

**To be continued…**

**I know. This wasn't as good as some of the other chapters, but it's here. I'd love to see your reviews. And hopefully, next week, Mort and Alex will have a fun joy ride. Oh, there will be blood. There will be revelations. There will be… Well, I've said too much as it is.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Seven: Life in the Fast Lane and Death on the Sidelines**

Not a word had been spoken between the two since the car had sped onto the old highway just outside of the town. Mort sat silently, eyes trained to the road, as Alex curled up in the passenger's seat, a look of absolute dread filling his eyes.

_I don't belong here. I should have left sooner. Oh God, save me._

Alex's eyes filled quickly with silent tears. Frightened, and slightly uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat, avoiding making any noise whatsoever.

_Is he gonna kill me? Turn me over to the cops? Was that man really a figment? How did he know all that? All that I've done?_

Sighing quietly, Alex settled back in his seat, his knees to his chest. He glanced across the vehicle at the author in the driver's seat. A small lump began to form in the boy's throat. He swallowed and closed his eyes, reaching out and rolling his window down.

"What? Hot?" Mort's voice broke the boy's concentration. The tears that he'd been working so hard to keep from falling, fell in defiance now.

"No," The boy managed to choke out. "Just needed… some air. Th-that's all."

Mort nodded, turning his eyes back to the road.

"S-s-so… Where are w-we headed?" Alex turned his eyes to Mort.

"I told you. We're taking a little joy ride." Mort's eyes never left the road this time, as he spoke each word with careful concentration.

"O-o-okay. That's-That's fine. I'm gonna… sit back and s-sleep a l-little. I'm tired." Alex watched Mort nod and leaned his head back against the headrest, watching the other man drive.

Minutes passed and Alex felt the pull of sleep. He closed his eyes and wiped gently at his face, pushing away the tears. Serenity filled his mind as the hum of the engine cradled him to rest. Serenity that, unfortunately, didn't last in his dreams.

_Alex's heart pounded. He stood before his mother, heaped in a crying mass on the floor in front of him. She wept, tears of blood, at her lover's death. The man that had ruined their family lay not too far away, his body bent and broken, blood cooling as it pooled around him._

"_Why?" Her words floated lifelessly to the boy's ears._

"_Because," Alex's voice was small, distant, spoken as if by some outer being. "You left him behind. You never even said goodbye, and you want to know why this is happening to you? You're naïve, too naïve Mother."_

_The woman screamed as the gunshot rang. Then, silence filled the room. Alex dropped slowly to his knees. He stared, blankly, at the husk that had once been his mother. He lifted her head and kissed her cold forehead._

"_Forgive me, Mother. I've forgiven you." He set her head back down on the cold, unforgiving floor. He wiped his hands on her shirt, wiping away every last drop of blood._

_Standing, Alex dragged his mother and her lover to a hole he'd dug in the backyard of their shared love nest. He threw the bodies into the hole, letting them land in any undignified position. Without blinking, he began to fill the hole, letting the mud and plants cover their faces inch by inch._

_Once the deed was finished, Alex stepped back inside and disposed of the gun, much in the same fashion. He returned to the kitchen and filled a bucket with scalding water. He dipped a sponge into the water, burning every inch of his skin that touched the water. Turning back to the room, he began to clean the blood, sponging it up with the scalding water, burning his hands, and not even thinking as his hands began to blister._

_By morning, the task was finished, he remembered that much. The blood was gone, the bodies long since forgotten. He sat gingerly on the porch, watching the sun rise. By mid-morning, he was dressed in his most comfortable jeans and sneakers, on the road away from his home, searching for a place to stay away from there._

Alex opened his eyes as a sharp bump startled him awake. He glanced over at Mort, whose eyes were still glued to the road.

"Where are we?" Alex sat up, stretching his arms and legs, before returning to his fetal position in the passenger seat.

Mort sighed, taking a quick glance at Alex. "Just on the outskirts of Maine, almost out of the state."

"Why?" Alex straightened up now, reaching out toward the car's radio, tuning it to some easy rock.

"Because… I just kept driving, and this is where we are now."

"Oh, kay… So, we gonna just keep driving forever?"

"No, sir." Mort chuckled lightly. "I think it's almost time we took ourselves a nice little break at a hotel or something'." Alex stared at Mort a moment, trying to place something. Mort sounded… different, but he couldn't place what exactly was up. He sighed and looked out his window.

"Let's go eat." Alex pointed at a Denny's by the roadside, next to a Travelodge. Mort nodded and pulled the car off the road, into the Denny's parking lot.

The two left the car in silence, both watching their feet. Mort slipped into the Denny's first, holding the door for Alex. The smell of pancakes and burgers met the two travelers the instant the door opened. They stepped in and found a seat at the counter, looking over menus, without the real need or want to eat anything.

"What can I get you gentlemen?" A tall, blonde waitress in her early forties stood before the two, smiling slyly, waiting for their orders.

"Um, how about a Meatlover's Skillet and a coffee for me?" Alex returned the woman's smile as he ordered.

She winked at him and took his menu. "Growin' kid like you? You oughta order two o' those, hun."

Alex chuckled and looked to Mort. Mort sighed and passed the menu to the waitress. "I'll have the same, Miss."

"Two Meatlover's and coffee comin' up, boys." She sauntered off, hollering to the cook to fill the order.

Alex leaned back, holding onto the counter and letting his head fall back as far as it would go. He turned, still leaning back, and looked at Mort, his vision almost completely upside-down now.

"You okay, Mort?" He sat up again. "You've been silent and creepy since that Shooter guy showed up at your house. Who was he anyway?"

"No one of consequence. He's an old figment of mine, is all." Mort closed his eyes and breathed deep, stretching his limbs.

"Do you mean that? Figment? If that's true, why could I see him?"

Mort's eyes snapped open and he stared at the boy. "I don't know." The author fell silent. The waitress brought their coffee and the two didn't speak another word to each other until they'd reached the Travelodge an hour and a half later.

"Two for the night," Mort was paying for rooms at the counter while Alex wandered aimlessly about the lobby.

_We didn't even pack gear. He just up and grabbed me and we were off. I would have brought pajamas or something. Maybe he kept our overnight bags in the trunk from the last time we wandered off for awhile._

This, of course, wasn't the first time the two men had gone on a little excursion to the outskirts of the state in the past month. They had gone last time all the way to Delaware on a fluke. They had packed bags for a week and had needed everything about two times. Alex didn't remember ever bringing in his bag and he hoped that maybe it was still there.

Mort walked past Alex, back out to the car. He returned minutes later with their two overnight bags.

"Yeah, I didn't unpack." Mort said, catching the look on Alex's face. "We're sharing a room. It's got two beds and it's cheaper."

Alex nodded, laughing slightly.

_Isn't that a hell of a coincidence? Somehow we were thinking the same thing. Are we that much alike? I've always loved writing. I could do it. I could live in a backwoods cottage alone to write stories…_

Alex shook his head and followed Mort to the room. Within twenty minutes, the lights were out and both of them lay in their respective beds, dreaming.

_Alex sat beside his father as he died. His father's hands were covered in blood. He'd been coughing it up like a geyser. He hadn't stopped for several minutes. Now he lay dying, his hands clutched weakly in his son's hands._

_Alex wept, holding his father long after the bullet had ripped through the man's chest and stopped the breath from entering. Long after the heart had stopped. Long after the skin had gone cold, the son remained holding the father._

_A long suffering scream erupted from the boy as he turned on the man that had shot his father those weeks before. He screamed and lunged at the man, clawing, tearing, crying. He didn't stop until he knew the man wouldn't ever be able to see again. He didn't stop until he knew that the man's heart would never beat again. He didn't stop until he knew the man was dead._

"Hey, kid." Mort stood over Alex as the boy opened his eyes and woke slowly. "Up and at 'em. We've got some road to cover if we're goin' to enjoy somethin' on this road trip. C'mon. Continental breakfast downstairs. Hello muffins."

Alex laughed and stood, catching himself as he almost fell back. "My leg's numb… Hold on."

"Get a shower, get dressed. C'mon." Mort was packing his bag neatly, already dressed in jeans and a loose sweater shirt.

"Alright, alright. What time is it?"

"Seven." Mort turned and threw a random outfit at the boy. Alex examined it: his favorite dark blue jeans and a blue striped shirt, short-sleeved and comfortable. He smiled.

"You know me too well. I wanted to wear this."

"I know." Mort laughed at him. "You always do."

Alex nodded and went to the shower. He returned several minutes later and shoved his pajamas into his bag, zipping it up and heading downstairs, where Mort had already gone, according to the note on the table.

"Didn't want to wait for me, eh?" Alex joined Mort at a tall table and smiled down at his muffin of choice.

"I was hungry… and these muffins were calling." Mort dug into his poppy seed muffin, most likely the second one of the morning.

"Mmm-hmm. I'll drink to that." Alex lifted his orange juice in a toast. Mort returned the toast, lifting his coffee glass.

"To us, eh?" Mort chuckled at the other.

"No," Alex replied. "To freedom from our pasts."

"Here, here." Mort smiled and took a sip of his coffee. Alex followed suite and the two ate their muffins in silence, filling up for the second leg of their journey.

**To be continued…  
Hehe, they're living in the fast lane and Alex can't stop dreaming about death. Get it now?**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I have to say now… before you read this, that I do not agree with the beliefs of either of the men. The conversation held between Mort and Alex here about religion is merely for the storyline. My personal beliefs about God (whichever God it truly is) are in no way connected to this conversation. I am, by all ways and means, an Agnostic, and will therefore promise you hear and now that this is merely Alex's ideas and Mort's ideas. So, please don't inundate my email folder with "What Would Jesus Do?" and "Read the Bible again, you idiot," letters. I will not read them, and they will simply prove to me that you are not reading the story, but merely looking for someone to create an argument with. I will not feed into these viscous, cannibalistic behaviors, thank you.**

**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Eight: Broken Memories and Broken Beliefs**

_It was dark. He couldn't see much of the room around him, only the floor directly in front of him. His eyes were adjusting slowly, but instead of seeing better, he seemed to lose vision. Anxious thoughts whirred through his mind as he stumbled over his feet and fell to the floor, coughing as his chest hit, pushing the breath out of his lungs with rapid intent. After he caught his breath, he sat up, and the room illuminated itself. Silence filled the room as he stopped coughing and looked around._

_Suddenly, he heard a scream, high, terrified, unyielding fear ripping through the air in that voice. It took him a moment to realize it was his own scream, and even longer to stop the scream in his throat. He coughed again, forcing his heart to slow down and staring quietly at the bodies in the corner. They were there, all three of them, staring up at him, sitting hand in hand, dead. He could feel the scream trying to surface once more, clamped his mouth shut and swallowed back the bile that now threatened to take the scream's place._

"_I don't understand," he whimpered, closing his eyes and rubbing at them vigorously. When he opened them again, the bodies were still there, staring and… laughing almost. "I know you're all dead. I buried each of you. I covered you in dirt, six feet deep. I know it. I have the calluses on my hands to prove it. How'd you get out?"_

_Shaking violently, he realized quickly that the bodies were not going to respond. They never did. Every time he came to this room, it always happened the same. They stared and he asked questions, only to have to answer them on his own, slowly, as he remembered just where he was. He stood and clutched at his jacket, wrapping it tighter around himself._

"_I know this isn't real," he whispered to the bodies. "I know it isn't, but why can't I make you stop? Why can't I push you away?"_

_Then, the unexpected happened, and yet, he expected it all the same. They turned and looked away, to their right. He followed their gaze and saw Mort, standing to the edge of the room, a crooked grin on his face, his eyes sparkling with, what? Madness? That's the only thing he could call it. Madness, total, and complete._

_Still, the figure, the unexpected man that had seemingly come to his rescue drew him closer. He found himself running to Mort, grabbing onto him and not letting go. Then, he heard himself muttering in a language that was as dead to him as it was to the rest of the world. A sharp pain rang out between his eyes and he felt the beginnings of a migraine he hadn't had in months. He collapsed against Mort and screamed again…_

And found that scream to be just the alarm clock he needed. Alex sat up straight in bed, looking around frantically to find Mort standing over him, holding his elbows.

"You were screaming in your sleep," Mort whispered breathlessly, a note of terror in his voice. "What the Hell were you dreaming?"

Alex shook his head and looked up at the author with confusion clear on his features. He could remember the dream vividly, and his brain was working rapidly at trying to figure out just what had led to this new ending to an otherwise predictable dream.

_I don't understand. What does my finding Mort mean? Dreams always mean something, right? So, what did this one mean? Did it mean that I need him for something? Is this…_Alex furrowed his brow and looked down at his lap. _This is it? THIS is how I'm gonna fix my problems? Mort… and me… We have a lot of the same troubles. Maybe we met each other because there's something that we need to do… to fix what we've done wrong. But… we can't bring back the dead. Mom, Dad, Jim, Amy, Ted… They're all dead._

Alex looked up at Mort again, his eyes going wide. "You…" Suddenly he understood, as if a voice had been telling him all this time and he finally decided to listen to it. Mort had killed Amy and Ted, in the same violent rage that Alex had killed his own mother… and Jim, her lover. Everything suddenly was clear. They were together now to feed each other's madness. Mort and Alex would be trapped together until they fixed things… or killed each other.

Shuddering at the thought, Alex decided to not finish his sentence aloud. _You killed your wife and her lover, just like I killed my mom and hers. We're the same, in that. I see that now._

"What was all that gibberish you were muttering? Do you remember? It sounded like Latin…" Mort seemed to be filled with questions.

Alex studied his hands a moment and racked his memory for the words. He couldn't grasp them, until they seemed to float back through the haze into which his dream was rapidly disappearing.

"I don't remember all too well," Alex muttered, barely audible even to his own ears. "It was Latin, yes. It roughly translates to… 'You, the Chosen, who will die at His hands.' My father wrote it in a book before he died, said it to me. He told me to remember it, that I would know what it meant, in time."

Mort sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "No offense to your father, but I think he might have been crazy. 'You, the Chosen, who will die at His hands?' Who are the 'chosen?' And whose hands are we speaking of?"

"The Chosen Children… God's Hands. It was a theory he had, that those 'chosen,' or more specifically, those who chose to sin… would die at the hand of God Himself, and that nothing could save them. I think he was crazy, but he was also very philosophical. He might have been referring to some nonsensical dreams, or he might have had some idea of what he was thinking. I'll never know."

Mort shook his head. "Sinners have the chance to 'choose' redemption, if they atone for those sins committed. That's how church tells it."

Alex nodded. "I know, but all religion is purely conjecture. No one really knows the truth. They're all stories based off of books written by men years and years ago. For all we know, the Bible could be some collection of fictional stories written by an ancient Babylonian version of Arthur Conan Doyle."

"You're looking at it from a very pessimistic standpoint. That's not something I would expect from you, Alex." Mort leaned back against the pillows, sitting next to Alex and settling in for a good, long conversation. Alex adjusted himself to match Mort's position against the pillows, leaving a decent six inch gap between the two. "And, to continue down the path of Christianity, what about Jesus?"

"He could have been some ranting madman that people thought was a miracle worker…" **( AN::winces at the anger that one probably caused people: Please remember the disclaimer.) **

"So, what you're saying is that it's entirely possible that everything that some people put their faith into, all that they live and breath, could be a lie?" Mort muttered angrily at the thought of the boy's sudden change in attitude. They'd been on the road for three weeks now, going nowhere and at times traveling the same path twice. They'd shared each other's company and gotten to know each other. Mort had even begun to think of the kid like the son he'd never had. He enjoyed their chats, but this one may have been too over the edge for him.

Alex sighed and closed his eyes. Thinking rapidly, he tried to make heads or tails of his thoughts. He leaned his head on Mort's shoulder and let out a breath, opening his eyes to study the far wall of the hotel room. A small voice with a Southern accent began to comment in the back of his mind, reminding him just what his dreams had entailed lately, and how tragic they turned out, every time.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say is…" He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, forcing himself to focus on each individual word. "I don't know what to believe anymore. So much has happened to make me think, and wonder about that little book that so many Christians stake their lives in. I mean, the stories and stuff… They're great. They teach us important lessons that we should learn, like treating others with kindness, no murder, things like that. But is that book even really accountable for what it holds? Does any of it… _Did_ any of it actually exist, or do we sit in church every Sunday praying to someone who's fed up with our promises, our complaints, our wishes? I just don't know anymore, Mort."

Mort nodded his acknowledgement and closed his eyes. "It's hard sometimes, to keep faith in something so insubstantial, so intangible. I believe in the world, in computers… heh, because I can see them. I know that they're there. But, Jesus? God? Those are beings created too many years ago, with stories so out there that sometimes…"

Alex nodded and settled into the pillows further. "I think I can sleep again. I don't think the dreams will come back. What time is it?"

Mort glanced at his watch and smiled crookedly. "Two AM, Sporto." He chuckled and started to stand. "Good night."

"Stay there," Alex commanded in a small boyish tone. He reached up and hugged Mort, tears falling down his face. He closed his eyes and fell quickly into unconsciousness, muttering incoherently. Mort heard very little of what he said, but one small phrase was audible, and very heart-warming. "Don't go yet, Dad."

**TBC**

**So… we all know now? They have become a sort of father/son relationship, and Alex's nightmares are starting to affect both of them. Things will get clearer as time goes on. I promise. As for the conversation… If you're reading this, that means it didn't offend you too much. Good. It's a good story and I'd hate for some stupid little God conversation to piss you off. Thank you for reading, and review nice things!**


	9. Chapter 9

-1**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Nine: A Dead Body and A Clean Getaway**

Alex squinted up at the ceiling as he slowly awoke to the sound of sirens in the distance. He turned to see Mort standing at the foot of his bed with their two overnight bags in hand. Mort smiled good-naturedly down at the boy and tossed him his bag.

"Good thing we came to a hotel with a small Laundromat," Mort commented. "Your clothes were starting to smell something awful."

"And like you smelled any better," Alex grumbled as he changed into a pair of blue jeans and a comfortable green T-shirt. "Driving around the country in a car for so many weeks… It's a wonder we didn't personally start to grow mold. We leaving right away, or is there breakfast at this place?"

"Oh, there's always breakfast, Alex." Mort shrugged his bag over his shoulder and grabbed the key-cards for the door. "Make sure you have everything, coz we're not coming back."

Alex ran a quick search of the room and found nothing to be left behind. Satisfied, he hurried out the door and after Mort. The two entered the lobby to find several police officers standing around the corpse of the hotel proprietor, broken and staring with dead eyes at the ceiling. Alex's heart stopped in his chest at the sight. He'd remembered when they'd met the man the night before. He'd shuffled them off without a single courtesy, muttering insults in their direction as he shoved them into their room for the evening. If he'd been like that with all of his customers that night, Alex thought he might know why the man was now dead.

"Officers, what's going on?" Mort stepped forward, catching the attention of one of the officers. He turned and looked Mort up and down before studying Alex from a distance as well.

"Got a call, murder," the officer turned and pointed at the proprietor. "He owned this place, was working a late shift last night. One of the cleaning ladies found him like this this morning and called us. Did you two see anyone suspicious around here about eleven last night?" He pulled out a notebook and began to take notes on the scene.

Mort shook his head. "No sir," he replied. "We got here at about eight last night, got our room and went to bed. That guy was a bit rough with us though, like… insulting us and the other customers. To be perfectly honest, I can believe that some disgruntled person might have done him in. As for me, I figured it had just been a long day for him, so I let it slide."

One of the cleaning ladies who'd been speaking with another officer turned to watch Mort for a moment. She gasped in recognition and squealed. "That's Morton Rainey! I knew I'd seen him here last night! Him and that boy… They came in and took a room on the third floor and the boy… went out for a while."

Alex stared wide-eyed at the woman, his heart pounding. Was she accusing him of the crime, of the motive, of being out and about at the time of the murder? He shook his head and closed his eyes. The officer that had been speaking to Mort turned his eyes on Alex.

"Where were you last night at eleven, kid?"

Alex looked up at the man and tilted his head. "Asleep. I slept soundly until about two o'clock or thereabouts. I had a nightmare, if you must know. I never left that room after we got there. Too tired."

Mort touched the officer's shoulder. "He was out cold, officer. I was awake, reading from about ten until midnight. He never left the room."

The officer nodded and looked around the lobby. "Do you guys keep video surveillance of this place?"

The cleaning lady shook her head and stared at Alex a little bit longer. The officer turned and smiled at the two men. "Breakfast bar's closed, fellas. I'll take your names, please, then you'll have to leave the crime scene. If I need you, I'll contact you."

Mort and Alex fed their names to the officer and rushed out to the car. After throwing their overnight bags into the trunk, they slipped into the car and out onto the freeway.

"Maybe we ought to head home again, Alex," Mort sighed once they were about twenty miles away from the hotel. "Things are starting to get a little boring, huh?"

"Boring?" Alex exploded with a look of joy on his face. "You think waking up to find a dead body that neither of us had anything to do with is boring? Oh my God! Not that I believe in him, but oh my God! Back home, I was a wanted man… Here, I was giving cops a story from the other side of the caution tape. That's such a relief, you don't even know it!"

Mort turned to look at Alex, a startled look on his face, then looked back out at the road. Silence filled the car for several minutes before Mort spoke again. "The other side of the caution tape? You weren't foolin' when you said John was right about you."

"What?" It was now Alex's turn to appear startled. He turned instinctively to look behind him and was met with John Shooter, sitting in the backseat, watching the two men.

"Well, hello there, Mister Wright," Shooter whispered. "Now, how are my two favorite boys doin' this fine Saturday morning? Weren't too shocked by the dead man back there, were you?"

Mort laughed sharply and pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Get out, Shooter!"

"Can't get rid of me all that easy now, and you know that Mister Rainey. I'm up here," he tapped Mort's forehead. "Not here."

Alex sat forward once more, not bothering to look at Shooter anymore. "Just drive, Mort. Shooter, what do you know? About the dead man. About me. And… why can I see you if you belong in Mort's mind?"

Mort pulled the car back onto the road and drove, staring ahead, an angry growl hiding just under the surface. Alex waited patiently for Shooter's answers, while Shooter sat and watched the two men with a grin of self-satisfaction on his face.

"You both don't get it yet, do you? Oh, I'm no more fake than you two are. I'm real as they come, this time. And Alex, I've known about your mama and Jim since before you even did anything. I've known the anger you had in your heart over that one. And that man back there… Well, Alex, do you think that you really were sleepin'?"

"I remember the nightmare, and don't you dare tell me I killed that man. I would never kill someone again. I can't. It's not in me anymore. I'm too afraid."

Shooter laughed out loud and laid down in the backseat, his head behind the passenger seat and his knees drawn up just behind Mort's seat. "Too bad, not gonna listen to what I have to tell you today, I ought not to waste my breath, boys. I'll just say this much more. I'm as real as Mort there. And you are responsible for that man's death in that you provoked me to do it." He rolled over to face the back of his own seat. "Oh, and keep your eyes on the road, Mister Rainey."

Mort shook his head and took a quick glance at Shooter. "I'd been watching the road the entire time." He turned back to face forward just in time to hear and see the semi come roaring toward them. He swerved to the right. Alex covered his head as he heard the squealing tires, a shattering of glass, and a loud outburst of laughter from Shooter.

"I said, watch the road!"

**TBC**

**It's an odd way to end a chapter, but believe me, I know where it's going, so don't worry… (Hope they buy that… I'm making it up as I go along.) Whoa, did I say that part out loud? Hehe, no, I'm not really… I make it up as I go along, sure, but I always stay three chapters ahead in my mind. Enjoy, review… and pray that I keep this groove going to get more out tomorrow.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Ten: Broken Wings and Healing Minds**

He couldn't hear anything. It was too quiet. He remembered the screeching of tires, the shattering glass, Alex's muffled scream. It was too quiet now for what had happened seemingly seconds ago. Trying to open his eyes, lift his head, wiggle a pinky, or make some sort of movement that made him known to the rest of the world, Mort Rainey lay alone in a darkening abyss. Sounds started to filter in slowly, quiet to him at first, then louder with each moment. The first sound he heard was a hushed muttering, as though many people were speaking around him at once. Spectators? People who had seen the crash? He wasn't quite sure.

The second noise he heard was that of men talking right above him. He couldn't make out the words, but the voices had to have been those of EMTs, he was sure. He felt hands roaming for broken bones. That was good. He and Alex would be properly taken care of. Then, a wave of fear rushed over him. Trying desperately to move, he managed to open his eyes to slits, shutting them almost instantly against the lights from the ambulance.

_Oh, God. Let Alex be okay… He's just a kid. Please, let him be okay._

Morton Rainey felt like he was floating. He pried his eyes open once more and forced them to stay open. He saw the men around him, carrying him to the ambulance. He tried to speak, to get their attention, but no words came. The floating sensation quickly dipped into a falling sensation and he fell back helplessly into unconsciousness.

"Mister Rainey," came the cold Southern drawl. "You oughta wake up, Mister Rainey. The police will be wantin' to speak to you in time. They've plugged you for murder, Mister Rainey. They found the bodies… I know it. I feel it in my bones."

Mort tried to shove the man away, to kick John Shooter so hard that he'd be unable to speak. How he'd love to hear that obnoxious voice go up three more octaves, but he couldn't move. It was too much work. Everything felt unreal to him.

Shooter stood just to the right of Rainey's bed and looked across the bed at Alexander. The boy stood on the other side, watching Mort's face.

"He's hurt bad, Shooter," Alex whispered. Mort wanted to cry out in joy when he heard the boy's voice, but all noises ceased within his throat before they began. Feeling was coming back slowly and he realized, with a sudden gagging sensation, that there was a tube down his throat. That couldn't be good, he decided.

Alex continued to speak at Mort's left, resting a hand gently on the older man's shoulder. "You said that this kind of thing wouldn't happen to him, not while you were on watch. You wanted to make sure he was alive, coherent, and able to move when the cops took him away."

"That's right, Mister Wright, but plans change." Shooter chuckled and Mort could hear the smile in the man's voice. "It looks like Mister Rainey will be spending the rest of his life in hospitals when we get through with him."

_We?_ Mort's mind raced. What was Alex's part in this game? How did he tie in? And more importantly, how had he managed to walk away from the crash when Mort felt like a useless piece of three week old hamburger? None of it made sense. He worked his jaw muscles and immediately regretted it, the pain reaching to every nerve cell in his body. Still, he forced the motion and managed to finally open his eyes and speak.

When his eyes opened, however, not a soul was in the room. He was alone, on a hospital bed, under the dim fluorescent lighting.

"What's going on here?" Mort asked the ceiling, his voice raspy and unrecognizable as his own. He cleared his throat and tried to move his arms or legs. It took several moments to realize that he was not going to be moving any of his limbs anytime soon. What wasn't in a cast, felt battered and sprained. What wasn't sprained, was sliced and diced. And what wasn't sliced up, was in a cast. He was beginning to gain feeling in his entire body and the pain struck almost instantaneously.

Screaming out in a hoarse yelp, Mort got the attention of a passing nurse. She rushed in and immediately gave him a sedative. His eyelids began to feel heavy instantly and he whimpered for a minute, before the entire world fell away from him once more. He was thrust back into a world that was not his own.

_A young Alex stood before the fireplace, watching his father and mother talk. He knew that the way they acted with each other was unreal. All of it was unreal. It was so fake and almost as if someone had written this terrible script just for him. He knew that his father was dying. He knew that his mother was cheating on his father. He knew, but he wouldn't say it. He never would._

_Then, Alex sat by his grandfather's bedside. The old man was leaving, packing his bags and moving away forever. Alex had little time to say goodbye, and when his grandfather turned to leave, tears spilled over his round cheeks. He was still just a boy. He didn't understand any of it._

"_Why?" the little Alex kept asking. "Why are you leaving me… and momma… and poppa?"_

_The old man threw on a cloak and sighed. "I have to go. It was as your mother and father wished." He took up a walking stick and left the wooden tavern behind. Alex fell to his knees weeping. He picked up a book and threw it at the door. It landed with a thud and opened to the back cover. A letter, scrawled in a delicate handwriting appeared before Mort's eyes._

"_Dearest Grandson, Alexander,_

_My time here is short due to circumstances your father and mother wish to be made into bigger instances than they really were. I wish with all my heart that I could have taught you all that I know, and left your world knowing that I had raised you right. You will get no such treatment from those two. I ask you this once. Do not leave your father. He needs you. You are his only light in this world, as his wife no longer loves him. Stay true to your father, and you shall live a long and happy life._

_Your devoted Grandfather,_

_Tobias_

_March the 3rd, 1608"_

Mort's eyes snapped open. His heart was beating quickly, the monitor at his side told him that. He tried desperately to remember the date. March 3rd… something… He couldn't remember the year, which frustrated him beyond all belief because it had been right there in front of him. He tried and tried, but everything came up a blank. The room spun in a blur around him as the doctor came in to check on him.

"You're awake, Mr. Rainey," the doctor smiled at him. "Have a nightmare? Your heart's a bit fast." He tapped the monitor.

Mort shook his head. "Trying… to remember…" He looked wearily up at the doctor. "How long have I been out…?"

"Only half a day, Mr. Rainey," the doctor responded, calling in a nurse. "You probably can't feel anything right now, and that's a good thing, believe me. You were in a terrible car crash. Do you remember anything?"

"Not much," Mort tried to move and stopped, not feeling whether or not his limbs even listened to him. He sighed and closed his eyes. "How… bad am I?"

"Not terribly. We got you breathing on your own again a few hours ago, which I'm very pleased to see you're doing quite well. You have three cracked ribs, so try not to move much. You've a broken arm and leg. Your entire left side is a bit beaten up, really. A concussion, not severe, but enough of one that it will cause some dizziness and headache for a while. I plan to keep you here until everything has healed. I don't want you going back out to that cottage on your own and trying to fend for yourself, do you understand?"

"Yeah," Mort replied, checking off the list of injuries in his mind. "Hey, Doc?" The doctor turned at Mort's call and stepped to his bedside.

"Yes, Mr. Rainey?"

"What happened to Alex? The boy in the passenger seat of my car?"

Silence filled the room. Mort opened his eyes to find the doctor looking down on him with a very concerned and curious look on his face. He sighed sadly and spoke quietly with a nurse. After several minutes without an answer, Mort spoke up again.

"What happened to Alex? Is he okay?"

"Mr. Rainey?" The doctor turned and stared at Mort a moment and came back to his side, placing a gentle hand on the author's shoulders. "I'm going to have the nurses take you in for some more tests. I'm worried about your head injuries."

"You're sidestepping the question," Mort growled. "I may be incarcerated and drugged with everything known to medical science, but I know when a doctor isn't telling a man what he needs to know. What happened to Alex? What happened to the boy in the passenger seat of my car when we crashed?"

The doctor shook his head. "There was no boy, Mr. Rainey. There was no one else in or near your car at the accident. You were alone."

**TBC**

**I know, it's a weird one, but I've been writing this chapter by chapter and I finally figured out what the plot is… so, this is the climax, I guess you'd say. There's about three more chapters, and I hope they're good, otherwise, I might disappoint some people… Enjoy. Review…**


	11. Chapter 11

-1**Concerning A Murder**

**Chapter Eleven: A Lost Soul and a Permanent Arrangement**

_You're losing your grip. You can't do it anymore. Shooter is taking over, isn't he, Mort?_

Mort sat in his hospital bed, staring at a far wall, listening to his thoughts. Something wasn't right anymore. He'd known for years now that Shooter wasn't real, but something had finally gone wrong. The John Shooter he'd thought he'd gotten rid of was back, watching his every move. He looked to the chair next to the bed. Alex sat there, watching the same wall Mort had been staring at.

"When did you get here, Alex?" Mort's voice was scratchy. His throat hurt terribly, but he decided to force himself to speak.

"Don't, Mort," Alex whispered carefully. "Don't speak out loud to me. If they catch you talking to me, they'll put you away forever, label you as insane and throw away the key."

Alex shifted in his seat and looked to the door. Shooter stood there, smiling widely. "So, we're going to tell him, now, Mister Wright?"

"Mort?" Alex turned and looked back at Mort. "Listen, this is going to sound… crazy… but I'm as real as Shooter over there. We're both merely figments of your imagination."

"But," Mort stopped himself, thinking rapidly about the hotels, the Denny's restaurant, every time he'd been anywhere that people had acknowledged Alex's existence. "That's not possible."

"You're a writer, Mister Rainey," Shooter explained. "You make people up all the time. 'Bout time a couple of them got out of hand."

"I thought I was real… So real," Alex sighed, looking down at his hands. "Then, I remembered where my real life is. It's in that story you started when you were a boy. You never finished it, because you felt that if you finished it, you'd never see me again. I remember. You left me in the middle of the woods, my two best friends slaughtered and myself with naught but an axe to kill the vampires I'd been sent to rid the world of. Do you remember?"

Mort closed his eyes and thought back, as far as he could. As though a small light in the distance had just lit up a room he hadn't entered for years, he nodded, remembering everything. "Yeah…" He stopped himself and looked around the room.

"No need to talk, Mister Rainey," Shooter reprimanded. "We know what you're thinkin', don't we, Alex?"

Alex nodded weakly, a small grin gracing his pale face. "Blew my mind to watch that crash, from the angle of an imaginary person, someone who doesn't really exist. My God. The explosion, the tires squealing, the flashing lights. You lying on the side of the road, flung from the car, barely able to breathe… Made me chuckle, to be honest. To think, 'That can never happen to me, because I'm not real.'"

"How long…?" Mort shook his head and looked to Alex.

"How long have I known that I'm not real? Not too long… I'd say our talk about religion was the last thing I did before I realized. I fell asleep that night and I remembered."

Mort sat up suddenly, causing a rush of pain to go through his body. "What about that murder? The lady that saw you? You're real if they saw you…"

"No one saw me, Mort. You were always alone. Your memory plays tricks on you when you're a murderer. You killed that desk clerk. You went back up to the room and created, in your mind, a scenario for the next morning. Do you want to know how that morning actually panned out? You were in a daze. I'm sure if you force yourself to remember, you twisted their words around… I was never there. She was pointing at a different boy, just behind you…"

Mort closed his eyes once more, forcing the memory. And Alex was right, there it was.

"_Got a call, murder," the officer turned and pointed at the proprietor. "He owned this place, was working a late shift last night. One of the cleaning ladies found him like this this morning and called us. Did you…uh… You see anyone suspicious around here about eleven last night?" He pulled out a notebook and began to take notes on the scene._

_Mort shook his head. "No sir," he replied. "Got here at about eight last night, got the room and went to bed. That guy was a bit rough though, like… insulting me and the other customers. To be perfectly honest, I can believe that some disgruntled person might have done him in. As for me, I figured it had just been a long day for him, so I let it slide."_

_One of the cleaning ladies who'd been speaking with another officer turned to watch Mort for a moment. She gasped in recognition and squealed. "That's Morton Rainey! I knew I'd seen him here last night! Him and…That boy!" She pointed to a person just to Mort's left. He turned to see a young boy just behind him, lugging a large bag, trying to get out without being noticed. "They came in and took up rooms on the third floor. That boy went out for a while, too."_

_The officer that had been speaking to Mort turned his eyes on the boy behind Mort._

"_Where were you last night at eleven, kid?"_

_The boy looked up from his bag, which had just spilled out all over the lobby floor. "Asleep. I was sleeping the whole time…"_

_Mort touched the officer's shoulder. "I was awake, reading all night, right by the door to my room. I would have noticed if he'd walked by at some point in the night." He pointed at his ear. "Great hearing."_

_The officer nodded and looked around the lobby. "Do you guys keep video surveillance of this place?"_

_The cleaning lady shook her head and stared at Mort some more. The officer turned and smiled at him. "Breakfast bar's closed. I'll take your name, please, then you'll have to leave the crime scene. If I need you, I'll contact you."_

"I was never there. Just a random boy. You create scenarios… It's entertaining really." Alex sat back in his seat.

"You're not acting like the Alex I remember," Mort muttered, keeping his eyes closed. "What happened to the cheerful kid I created? And why now can I see you? After all these years?"

Shooter stood up and walked across the room to a window. "You needed new motivation, Mister Rainey. I don't scare you anymore. You finished my story and now I'm done for, but there's someone else that's using your apparitions for his own personal gain. You're a perfect target too… When you're listening."

Alex nodded. "I'm not the same kid I once was, because I'm not Alex anymore. It took a while, but I finally got into your head. I got you back on the right track."

"Right track?" Mort shook his head. "What right track?"

"You're punishing the wicked again, Morty." Alex smiled wickedly then. "Amy, Ted… You stopped for a while after them, but I was never through with you. You think you created Shooter out of fear of facing the actions on your own. No, I created Shooter, through you, to use you for my own deeds."

"Punishing the wicked?"

"Yes, like Amy, Ted, and that dear, departed clerk. There were others too. All throughout our road trip, you left behind a trail of… murder. But don't worry. They'll never find you. Not when you're carrying out my plans."

"What plans?"

Alex shook his head. It doesn't matter, Mort. All that matters, is that your soul and will-power now belong to me. It started with Shooter here…" He raised a hand and placed it on Shooter's arm. Quickly, he slashed his arm through Shooter, causing the vision to disappear entirely. "And it ends here, with me. You're mine now, to mold, to use… Oh this should be fun."

Mort leaned back against the pillows. "You're using me… to fill Hell."

"How perceptive, my friend. But it goes deeper than that. Much deeper. I have several very big grievances to deal with up here… It all ties back to… Him." Alex pointed upward, toward the ceiling. "Oh, but don't let my petty problems deter you from healing. Come on, I need you good and healthy for the return trip. There's a lot to be done…"

"A lot?"

Alex was halfway standing. He turned and looked straight into Mort's eyes, cold gray eyes piercing the author's mind. "A lot. You and I have business to deal with, and I believe this is going to be a continually mutually beneficial circumstance."

Silence filled the room as once more Morton Rainey was left alone with his thoughts. Days passed and no one came to see him. He healed up and was signed out of the hospital. His entire trip home was uneventful. It seemed to him that the horrible nightmare was just that, and nothing more.

When Mort stepped over the threshold into his cottage by the lake, he found the house just as he'd left it. Trudging up the stairs with nothing on his mind but a good nap and a better rest, he threw his jacket aside and went to do just that. After he left the hot shower behind and cuddled down into his covers, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

There was barely any light in the room, but he could see the light from the bathroom under the doorframe. He watched as the light slowly began to blend into the rest of the room as his vision became nothing more than a blur. Then, a weight on the bed next to him alerted him to the fact that he was not alone.

"Oh, Mort… I've got a job for you," came the hissing voice in his ear. Without thinking, Mort was out of bed, dressed, and in the car, a very trusty screwdriver sitting in the passenger seat, and a glint of malice in his eyes.

**End**

**I know… it's a bit lame, the way that ended… Woohoo… There is, also, an epilogue, though it's short and just a small, haha thing. I guess I sort of gave up on this one, but this IS where it's always been headed. I'm working on other works that involve Mort and his satanic companion, but whether those will be up here… I have no idea.**


	12. Epilogue

-1**Concerning A Murder**

**Epilogue**

Morton Rainey sat on his porch, looking out at the lake and trees in the distance. The sound of the screen door cut into his thoughts and he turned as Alexander Wright handed him a glass of lemonade. He took it and watched Alex sit on the edge of the porch, sipping his lemonade.

"How was your day, Mort?" Alex asked, a casual tone in his voice.

"I wrote more," Mort responded, sipping his drink carefully. "I've been working hard on your… well, Alex's… story. Oh, Dave Newsome called and invited me for Thanksgiving dinner. He feels sorry for me, I suppose. I declined."

Alex nodded, ignoring the Thanksgiving comment. "It's a good story. I'm glad it's finally getting finished."

"Yeah."

They sat quietly, watching the sunset a while. Mort sighed and turned back to Alex. "How often do you do this?"

"Do what?" Alex's eyes never left the sun.

"How often do you live with psychotic murderers?"

"As often as I can, Morton. It's my life. I spend my time finding people like you. People who create other selves are perfect vessels, like yourself."

"Did… I really create the self you're occupying now?" Mort shifted in his seat.

"You created me, yes. Just as you created my last form. Seeing as you were no longer as affected by Mr. Shooter, I had to reopen old wounds and bring out someone who'd strike to your heart. You and I, Morton, are not finished yet."

"Can you… be anything else? Not… this kid?"

Alex turned and smiled, closing his eyes and leaning his head back a bit. "Oh, I can make my own image, but it's not nearly as effective, for you. I've done it before, though. To a man in Beijing, I was once a loyal dog with the ability to read his thoughts. A German businessman believed his dead brother to have been reborn." Alex opened his eyes and stared at Mort. Where once sat gray, sad eyes, now rested black eyes with red pupils, dark and menacing.

"So, you take on a form that you know the victim will recognize and accept?"

"Please, don't say victim…" Alex's head snapped around at that comment. "There are no victims. They bring on their own problems. And, would you prefer me to look like some red beast with horns and a tail, because I must say I find that form you humans have created for me to be quite offensive and lacking in flattery."

Mort sighed and leaned back. "So, I'm trapped with you? I have no possible saving grace?"

"You never had that chance in the first place… You were always mine, Morton. We made that deal a long time ago. Now, be quiet, watch the sky, and let me enjoy my lemonade." The boy fell silent and Morton Rainey stared on in silence, lost in his thoughts and fears. Never again could he make himself believe he was no murderer. His constant companion reminded him of that every day.

**I created that conversation about the man in Beijing a while ago while listening to Banana Phone, and now you know the inspiration for this story. Someday, I'll patch it up, make it better. I don't like the way it ended, but I am glad it ended. Thanks for reading, please keep reading my stuff, and keep reviewing.**


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